


charcoal stained in generations

by whalesong_and_bones



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Family Fluff, Gen, No beta readers, Parenthood, We Die Like Men, ignores DOTO, kinda fluffy?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:00:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24952711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalesong_and_bones/pseuds/whalesong_and_bones
Summary: Alexi Jessamine Beatrici Kaldwin, First of her name, ascends the throne at the age of 23. Her mother has never revealed the identity of her father, until her death.Ignores the events of DOTO.
Relationships: Emily Kaldwin & The Outsider, Emily Kaldwin/The Outsider, The Outsider & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	charcoal stained in generations

The death of Empress Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin, the first of her name, had taken the Empire by surprise. Svelte and tall, she had stood on the morning of the grand opening of the new teaching building of the Academy of Natural Philosophies, her hair done in her usual chignon, not a gray hair in sight. Come evening, the papers would be running headlines of her untimely passing, barely a couple of months into her 50th winter.

It is the Kaldwin curse, the nobility would whisper in the hidden corners of their mansions. First Euhorn, then Jessamine. The particularly ancient members of high society would scoff at the dithering, at the endless speculations. It is obvious, they did not follow the Scriptures.

On the 21st Day of the Month of Songs, 1875, Empress Alexi Jessamine Beatrici Kaldwin, First of her name, had ascended to the throne of the Empire, her claim uncontested, her hands unblemished by conflict.

\-------

Wearing her mother's favourite overcoat felt strange. The navy blue leather had retained it's colour over the years, preserved by the tender care of the seamstress. Alexi could remember flashes of herself, staring in front of the very same mirror, playing pretend. Her dear grandfather would humour her, following her every whim, to the complete exasperation of the Empress.

Alexi shook her head, trying to dispel the clouds threatening to overtake her. Grandfather had been buried years ago, her grandmother dead for far longer. Her mother had been inconsolable for weeks, hiding out in the safe room. Emily had never stopped mourning Corvo. Alexi wondered if she had ever stopped mourning her...

No, we are not going to go down that path today. Alexi shook her head again, willing herself back into the present. There was no time for reminiscing and speculating. Within a couple hours she would head the funeral procession of the late Empress, and she will set her mother on her last voyage. And another cycle will turn, the young outliving the old.

She scrutinized her reflection carefully. Her raven-black hair cropped short, barely fell to the tops of her ears. Her eyes had been carefully lined with kohl, as per tradition. The only spot of colour on her attire would be her mother's favourite coat, cinched to her waist. She had never been partial to black, but there would be time for colour after the customary period of mourning.

Alexi was somewhat aware she was still largely in denial about her mother's death. It had come on too suddenly. It's almost as if the rumours that the Kaldwin family line is cursed is true. Her mother had collapsed during dinner, her heart had been stilled by the time the Royal Physician had rushed into the room. The dishes had been checked for poison and the cooking staff thoroughly interrogated, however, all the evidence lead to the same thing - it was just her time to go.

There was a light knock on the door. The young face of her chambermaid poked through, chewing her lip nervously. "Your Imperial Majesty," she addressed Alexi, testing out the new syllables of her title carefully, "the Royal Physician had asked to inform you that they are planning on closing the casket soon. If you wanted to..." She trailed of, uncomfortably.

Alexi nodded sharply. "Yes, I shall be on my way." With a final glance to her reflection, pale green eyes hardened, she made her way out.

\-------

The Medical wing had never possessed the reputation of being the most well-scented corner of the Tower. Even through the overpowering smell of the disinfectant, one could scent the underlying sweet smell of sickness. On some days, disease would be replaced by death - ether and formaldehyde. Alexi could barely refrain from coughing.

The room her mother's body had been kept in felt unusually cold. It reminded her of a trip to Tyvia she had undertaken in her teenage years - her thick woollen coats had barely buffered her from Samara's harsh winds. That is when she noticed it.

It felt like gaining consciousness in the middle of a dream. She had become aware that her sight has become blurry, her vision going in and out of focus. Her head was spinning as objects started to float. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw her mother's casket tilting to the ground, spilling the finery from within. She could feel her heart rate spike, the soft thuds of the organ becoming more apparent. Have I been poisoned? Am I going to die? Her thoughts had started to spiral, breathing in the strange atmosphere felt like choking on smoke. Is this what the end feels like?

As sudden as it had started, it stopped. At some point, in her panic, she had collapsed against the cool tiles. She raised her head to assess her surroundings.

She felt as if she was trying to see things through a thick layer of smoke. The air felt cold and stale, the acrid smell of formaldehyde replaced by seaweed. There was a man standing over her mother's open casket. Alexi begun regretting leaving her sword behind.

He was not particularly tall, with a trim waist and broad shoulders. The pale skin of his neck contrasted sharply with the mop of black hair. He was hunched over the casket. Alexi could not shake the feeling she has met him before. A murmur of a voice interrupted her gawking like a knife. "I am glad you have finally decided to join us, Alexi," said the man softly, not glancing in her direction, "I was beginning to get worried."

Alexi stood up, stamping down the need to retch, she stepped towards the stranger, "Who are you and how did you manage to get into the Tower?" She had wanted to reach for the intruder's collar, spin him around and question him further. Her plan had gone to the complete halt when she was graced with the man's profile - pale, aristocratic features, and eyes of liquid obsidian. Her desire to retch had returned ten-fold.

"Has Emily never mentioned our adventures together from the bad old days?" The Outsider said, his face inclined in amusement. He turned his back to her, facing Emily's body. "Do not worry, your mother has given me an open invitation in the past," his hands had begun gripping the edge of the casket.

Alexi stepped closer to the Outsider. Yes, she was well aware that both her grandfather and mother had dabbled in heresy. Corvo, because he wanted to save Emily, and her mother to reclaim her throne to the Empire. Their stories, however, did not go into much detail beyond that. Further on, Emily would always act strange whenever somebody mentioned the Outsider, however Alexi had never really prodded for answers. That was not the greatest mystery of my life... 

"Mother did mention that you were..." she hesitated, sampling words, trying to find the best fit, "a key ally in her quest to reclaim the Throne." She had his full attention now. Alexi felt like he was staring straight into the very essence of her being. "She never mentioned the extent to which, however," she finished lamely.

She could've sworn the corner of his lips tilted in the smallest of smiles. "I am afraid that information is wholly inaccurate," he said. The Outsider turned his attention back to that of her mother.

Emily, for all the difficulties in her life, had aged gracefully. Alexi had always thought the lines lining her mother's face had been a result of a good life - laughter and smiles. In public, her crow's feet and smile lines had always been artfully hidden behind pastes and creams, but she has never minded them in the company of her daughter. Even in the stillness of death, she could have sworn Emily was still wearing a smile.

"Are you here to fill me in then, or just to say goodbye to mother?" Alexi spoke, almost daringly, at the Outsider. She did not know what to make of the deity.

"That is most definitively Corvo speaking, right now," intoned the Outsider, almost amused. "Yes, and no," he hesitated, but then continued, with a whispered tone, "to say that I have not had ulterior motives in coming here would be dishonest." He lifted one of his hands to her mother's face, as if he wanted to caress her, but stopped a breadth away from her cheek. He let his arm fall to the side. "I wanted to see you in the flesh, for once."

Alexi frowned. See her? Why? From what she had heard, the deity tended to appear in times of great upheaval, to throw a wrench in the works. The Empire had been largely at peace - even the disputes between Tyvia and Morley had been stopped when she was still a toddler. "Why? Is there some trouble brewing?" she asked.

The Outsider stepped closer, his expression a cross between amusement and sorrow. Alexi could have sworn he has seen this exact facial expression before. "No, you will rule as the rightful Empress for many years, and you will find death surrounded by several generations of your family." he said. His unblinking gaze was still directed at her, though she could see him moving the rings on his fingers, in thought. He continued, "Emily has asked me, long before you were born, to not appear to you. At the time, I knew she feared being outed as a so called heretic by the Abbey and wanted to limit our interactions."

Alexi was confused. Why was her mother and the Outsider discussing this? Why would a god be interested in a child?

The Outsider seemed to have caught onto her confusion. "Tell me," he asked, plainly, "have you ever wondered about your parentage?"

I used to, Alexi thought. She'd spend hours staring into the mirror, memorising her own features, only to hope she'd see them on a nobleman, on a servant, on a passing guard. At one point, she had event asked her mother's advisor, Wyman, if they were her father. Her mother would never give her a straight answer either - he is a good man, daughter. Eventually she stopped asking.

"I did," Alexi answered, shrugging. "Childish fancies of having another playmate. I have eventually figured it was somebody she must have encountered during her stay in Karnaca during the coup. It was probably a fling and I was an unintended consequence of it." She looked towards the resting face of her mother, saddened at her own words. She was not mad, per say. The bitterness of the untold secret had long been washed off - she was okay with not knowing the truth.

"It wasn't a fling," the Outsider said, strangely defensively. "A forbidden affair which would've resulted in death if they were not too careful." His features had softened, in something akin to sorrow. "There is a painting in Emily's safe room, underneath the floorboard under the bed. It shall contain your answers." He turned his sight to Emily, and softly whispered, "Goodbye, my dear friend."

The Outsider's body had disintegrated in a cloud of smoke, and disappeared. Alexi could feel the temperature of the room returning, a whiplash of temperature and scent. Her hearing was assaulted with noise, something which she had not noticed had been missing the entire time. The Outsider had left her, more confused then she had ever been.

\----------

In the dead of night, after her mother had been sent off on her final journey, she would find a strange box in the location the Outsider described. It was full of bonecharms and runes, running hot and cold to the touch. She found letters, addressed to Emily, from past lovers and friends, but nothing which seemed out of the ordinary. At the bottom of the box, there was a sheet, folded over multiple times.

It was a drawing in charcoal. A man with dark cropped hair was holding an infant, his face rendered in a soft smile of somebody in love. His eyes, crinkled, with the beginnings of wrinkles on the outer corners, were black-on-black.


End file.
